Copyright © 2023 Erin Lanter

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-7357188-6-6

  ISBN (ebook): 978-1-7357188-7-3

  Also By Erin Lanter:

  The Dark Hour

  Saddle Hill Christmas Mysteries

  Follow That Star

  I’ll Be Home For Christmas

  Buried Secrets is a work of fiction. The location, characters, and businesses are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, places, or businesses, is purely coincidental.

  For the entire adoptive community—the adoptees looking for a place to belong and the parents who do their best to love their children well.

  For Nora—you are loved in this world.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

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  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

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  24

  25

  26

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  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  61

  62

  63

  64

  65

  66

  67

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  69

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  72

  73

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  75

  76

  77

  78

  79

  80

  81

  82

  83

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Thirty-Two Years Ago

  Startled, Sheila’s eyes snapped open. Light filtered into the bedroom from beneath the door, and she could hear voices coming from downstairs. The glowing red numbers on the bedside clock told her it was three o’clock in the morning. She reached over to the left side of the bed to find that her husband, Thomas, wasn’t there. The coolness of the sheets told her he’d been gone awhile.

  The voices continued, and as they did Sheila’s grogginess dissipated.

  What’s going on? Why would anybody be here at this hour?

  Surely he’s not having a meeting about a case, she thought, but as she continued to listen the hair on her arms prickled.

  Throwing the covers aside, she slipped out of bed and walked quietly across the room. Opening the door a crack, she placed her ear against the opening. Holding her breath, her heart beat faster.

  The voices echoing through the house were coming from the library.

  “Did you really think you could get away with this?” growled a deep, angry voice.

  “I’m not trying to get away with anything,” Thomas replied.

  Sheila opened the door wider.

  Thomas spoke again. “Wait a minute. Think about what you’re doing. You’re not going to solve anything like this.”

  “You have no idea how I solve things. Do you think I got where I am by always playing by the rules?” Though muffled, Sheila recognized the voice.

  It can’t be, she assured herself. This must be a mistake.

  Sheila grabbed her robe and rushed from the bedroom, her heart pounding wildly as the sound of breaking glass reverberated through the house. She willed her feet to move faster, and though she was desperate to help her husband resolve the situation that had woken her up, she was terrified of what she might be walking into.

  “Stop! Don’t do this!” she heard Thomas shout frantically. “Please, no!”

  Silence.

  Forcing herself to move through the paralyzing fear, she walked quickly through the living room, feet noiselessly padding on the plush carpet. Pausing when she reached the library door, a low groan escaped her lips when she saw her husband’s limp body lying on the floor.

  The light flickering from the fireplace cast an eerie glow throughout the room. From the corner, the twelve-foot Christmas tree still stood, cheerful twinkling lights contradicting the horror taking place in front of it.

  A scream froze in her throat as she saw the gaping wound in her husband’s chest and the poker from the fireplace lying beside his body. The crystal vase that had been a wedding gift three years earlier lay in pieces around him.

  Kneeling in the shattered glass, she silently prayed he was still breathing. Adrenaline coursed through her so she didn’t notice the deep gashes and the blood oozing from the bottoms of her feet.

  Sheila raised her head and her eyes met those of her husband’s killer. “What have you done? You killed him!” she shrieked.

  Where had he been hiding? Or had he been there in plain view the whole time, watching her terror? Her mind raced. How could the man standing in front of her be a murderer?

  “Sheila, darling, don’t look so surprised. You must have known the kind of man I am.” He was unremorseful and smug, not the person she thought she’d known. How could he be so calm after taking the life of another human being? How could he talk to her with such callousness after killing her husband?

  “I never thought you were capable of murder!” she wailed, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  Turning his back to her, he walked toward the fireplace and rested his forearm on the mantle. The dying fire cast a shadow across the face she’d once looked at with admiration.

  “We were a mistake, Sheila, and I think you know that. We never should have gotten involved.” His voice was quiet, barely audible over the crackling fire.

  A chill raced up her spine. He was too calm. Only a sociopath would show this little emotion after killing someone. Fear knotted in her chest, almost choking her. Warning signals went off in her head, urging her to get away.

  Rising on trembling legs, she ran toward the hall. Before she reached the library door, the killer was standing in front of her, a menacing smile on his face. Sheila’s eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape.

  There was none.

  “What do you want?” she pleaded. “I’ll do anything.”

  He chuckled softly, a cold, threatening sound, and reached out to stroke her cheek. “There’s nothing you can do, I’m afraid. It really is a shame that things have to end this way, though. We did have some fun together.”

  In terror, Sheila watched as he stooped to retrieve the poker that had been lying next to her husband’s body.

  Before she could utter a sound, he raised the gloved hand that held the poker and brought it down hard against the side of her head. The sickening sound of iron shattering bone filled the room.

  Sheila remained conscious long enough to see her murderer walk out the front door, resetting the alarm as he left.

  As the darkness enveloped her, Sheila’s last thought was of the baby she would never see again, and the man who’d made her an orphan.

  1

  It was a gorgeous fall day. The kind that makes a person glad to be alive. Definitely not the kind you’d expect to find out your entire life had been a lie.

  Late-afternoon sunshine angled through the small attic window, illuminating a dislodged floorboard. Alexandra Tucker couldn’t breathe—and not because she’d spent the last two hours in a dusty attic.

  She stared at the paper in her trembling hand, willing the words she was reading to change.

  “Gram!” she called, her voice shaky.

  “Be there in a minute, dear,” her grandmother replied.

  After what seemed like hours, Joan Shepherd’s head bobbed up the ladder. “Sorry, I was hauling boxes to the curb. Who knew a person could accumulate so much junk?” Then, after studying her granddaughter for a moment, she asked, “Are you okay?”

  Numbly, Alex shook her head. She wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

  A wooden crate screeched as Joan dragged it across the floor, leaving a trail in the dust. “Sit down, dear. You don’t look well.”

  Alex’s legs wouldn’t move. Feeling as though she was moving in slow motion, she extended her hand. “What is this?”

  Joan took the paper, eyes widening as she read.

  “What is that, Gram?” Alex demanded, pointing to the paper in her grandmother’s hand.

  Joan didn’t respond.

  “Gram!” Alex snapped. “What is that?”

  “A birth certificate,” Joan whispered.

  “I can see that. Whose is it?”

  Joan stared at the worn toes of her boots, still saying nothing.

  “Whose birth certificate is that?” Alex asked again.

  “Yours,” Joan said, barely audible.

  “I have a copy of my birth certificate,” Alex contradicted. “It doesn’t look anything like this.” It crinkled in her hand as she grabbed the paper from her grandmother. “This says my last name is Stone. And Mom and Dad aren’t listed as my parents.”

  “I know.”

  The room spun. Alex took a few careful steps forward and sat on the wooden crate. “This birth certificate was issued in Kentucky. I was born in South Carolina. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s best that I don’t,” Joan said quietly.

  Alex’s face flushed hot. She held up the birth certificate. “This is mine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s best you do,” Alex countered. “Why is my name listed as Alexandra Stone? And why are the parents listed as ‘anonymous’?”

  Joan took a step forward. “Your birth parents didn’t want to be identified.”

  Alex glared at her grandmother. “My what?”

  “Your birth parents,” Joan repeated.

  “I’m adopted? I’m adopted and nobody ever told me? How could they keep this from me? How could you keep this from me, Gram?” Alex’s heart hammered in her chest; her hands grew clammy.

  For the first time since she climbed into the attic, Joan’s eyes met her granddaughter’s. “Your parents thought it was best.”

  She might as well have shrugged as she said it.

  “And what about you? Did you think it was best?” There were no words to communicate how betrayed she felt. Her whole life was a complete lie. The birthday parties, holidays, and family vacations—all based on lies.

  “It wasn’t my place to agree or disagree. You have every right to be angry,” Joan said in a soothing voice. “The people you trusted most in the world kept some big secrets from you.”

  “I’m thirty-two years old, Gram, not a child that needs to be protected. I could have handled this. I can handle this,” she added as she looked out the small window, squinting into the sunlight.

  Worry flitted across Joan’s face. “I’m not sure your parents would agree.”

  “And what’s this?” Alex asked, nudging a dusty, leather-bound journal with her foot.

  Joan bent over and picked it up. She flipped through the pages. “It looks like it’s your mother’s journal.”

  “It was hidden with the birth certificate. Is it about my adoption?”

  Joan flipped to the first page and scanned it. “It would appear so, yes.”

  Alex rubbed her temples. “Why did it have to be such a secret that I was adopted? Didn’t I have the right to know where I came from? And why was my birth certificate and Mom’s written account of my adoption under the floorboard in your attic?” Questions swirled through Alex’s head, but they were questions nobody was answering.

  This time, Joan did shrug. “I didn’t know it was up here until now. I assume your parents were afraid you’d find it if they kept it at their house.”

  Ironic, Alex thought.

  “I haven’t even been in the attic for years,” Joan said, brushing a cobweb from the ceiling. “Your grandfather was always the one who took care of stuff up here. You remember how disorganized he always was. He probably didn’t know it was here, either.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Alex said, “What aren’t you telling me, Gram?”

  Joan diverted her eyes and focused on something in the far corner of the attic. “Nothing, except this. You were given a wonderful home with a family that loved you very much. Out of respect for your parents, I think it’s best you let it drop.”

  Alex rose on unsteady legs. “I can’t do that, Gram. Not now.” She tucked the journal under her arm, climbed down the ladder, and walked out the front door, still clutching the paper that had just turned her life upside down. As her feet moved swiftly down the sidewalk, she couldn’t help but wonder what could have happened to make her entire family bury the truth and vow to never speak of her adoption again.

  2

  Alex opened one eye and looked at the clock. She groaned. Six-thirty Friday morning, and she was supposed to be up and getting ready for work.

  “Adopted,” she said for what seemed like the millionth time in the last twelve hours.

  What was she supposed to do now?

  The information she had was minimal, but it would have to be enough. A last name and a location would get her started.

  But did she want to get started?

  She’d spent most of the night wondering that very thing. Questions came at her from every direction. Answers did not.

  Should she accept this new truth about her life and move on with it, secure in the knowledge that she’d been raised by two people who’d loved her very much, or should she risk throwing her life into a tailspin to find out where she came from?

  Who was she kidding? Her life was already in a tailspin.

  The pain on her grandmother’s face last night almost made her want to let the whole thing drop.

  But she couldn’t. She couldn’t unlearn what she’d found out.

  Quickly grabbing her cell phone from the nightstand, she turned it on and, ignoring a voicemail from Gram, scrolled through her contacts and selected her boss’s number. There was no way she could go to work today. After leaving a message, she threw back the heavy down comforter and placed her feet on the hardwood floor. A chill went through her body. She crossed the small bedroom to the dresser and pulled out a pair of socks, then turned to the closet and grabbed her favorite jogging suit.

  She had to clear her head. Talking to Gram would have to wait.

  “Jack!” she called.

  Within seconds, the ninety-pound Lab was in front of her wagging his tail. Jackson had been her constant companion since she rescued him from the shelter last year.

  It was love at first sight.

  As she bent to pet his shiny black head, his tail whipped from side to side. Just yesterday she’d had to clean up a vase of flowers that had been the victim of Jackson and his powerful tail.

  Yesterday. It seemed like so long ago. Her whole life had changed in a moment and would never be the same.

  Alex shook her head, determined not to entertain the questions forcing themselves into her mind. She looked down at Jackson, who now stood holding the leash in his mouth.

  She smiled. “Okay, buddy, I get it.” She attached the leash to Jackson’s collar and slid her apartment key into the pocket of her running jacket.

  Stepping out into the cool October air, Alex took a deep breath. Rain had fallen during the night, dampening the sea air she loved so dearly. Once summer ended, many of the people who frequented the beaches in Charleston returned to their normal lives. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for them.

  Taking one last deep breath, Alex began a light jog. As her shoes met the all-too-familiar path, she took in the scenery. The trees boasted cinnamon- and rust-colored leaves. Next month the trees would be bare, brown leaves covering the ground. But no matter the weather, this was a beautiful path and one of the few places Alex felt completely content.

  She turned right and jogged through the gates of the cemetery. After running a few more yards, she slowed her pace to a walk and veered off the path to the left, Jackson following a few steps behind. She took several more steps and stopped. Grief washed over her as she looked down at the headstone. This was a place she’d visited too many times in the past year.

  When the news came of her parents’ death, she’d been numb. How could they have been on that plane? Her mother had accompanied her father on a business trip to San Diego on a chartered flight, and they weren’t supposed to return home for several more days. Alex was heartbroken when she learned they’d changed their plans to surprise her on her birthday.

  Tuesday would be the anniversary of their deaths.

  Standing on the soggy patch of ground shared by her mom and dad, Alex had questions for them they’d never be able to answer.

  “How could you not tell me?” she demanded as the tears streamed down her face. “Didn’t I have a right to know? How will I ever know?”

  She covered trembling lips with her fingertips, guilt nagging at her conscience for the resentment she felt for the two people who had raised her. People who couldn’t defend themselves against the anger she threw at them now.

  Jackson rubbed his head against her hand, as though he knew she needed comfort.

  “Let’s go home,” she whispered. Expecting answers from a headstone wouldn’t help her. Right now it seemed like nothing would.

  Sadness settled in the pit of her stomach as she turned to leave. Would she ever be able to think of her mom and dad the same way again?

  She mourned. This time because the parents she thought she’d known now seemed like strangers.

 

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